Clarity
by What's Written in the Stars
Summary: After a horrible car accident, Katniss is in a state of limbo. Her life is flashing before her eyes as her reality falls apart around her. Now, the clock is ticking and she has to decided if she wants to live her life, or die with her loved ones. (Modern Everlar AU based off of If I Stay.)
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S**** NOTE: **Hello everyone and thanks for reading my story. This is based off of the beautiful story If I Stay. Now, the plot is pretty much the same but the details are almost all changed. I do not own If I Stay or The Hunger Games, all credit and characters go to who rightly deserves them. Please enjoy the story and review! I would love some feedback on if you guys would like for me to continue the story.

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><p><strong>CLARITY<strong>

**Chapter One**

"Come _on!"_ My little sister shoves me forward, urging me to grab my coat and boots so we can play in the freshly fallen snow. Her blonde hair is stuffed into a winter hat, her body ballooned up due to her large, fluffy jacket and her pushy hands covered in the think mittens my mother bought just days before.

I had barely gotten out of bed before she was throwing clothes at me and demanding we build a snowman before it's too late.

"Hold on, Prim!" Her small hands stop shoving but she stands by the door, one mitten-hand on the knob the other waving, urging me to move faster. I slip on my boots and throw on my jacket in record time. The moment I step out into the chilly air, a smile blooms onto my face. I'm not the biggest fan of the cold, or the snow, but days like this always seemed to hold a happy feel to them.

Prim almost dives head-first in the snow as she begins a snow-angle, her body swiftly moving. I move and lay down next to her but far enough away that when I begin my snow-angel our hands to not touch.

"I wish it wasn't Saturday." Prim says once she is done and slowly standing up, making sure not to ruin the perfect angle she just created.

"Why, little duck?" As always, a smile blooms on her face at my nickname for her.

"Because then we would have a snow day. One less day of school."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to make it up at the end of the year. Besides, your winter break starts in a week." Her small shoulder shrug before she is walking a few feet away from me. I stand and stare at the mess I just made. Prim's angel is perfect, she even managed not to make a huge butt print when she sat up. Mine looks like the angle was deformed.

"_Oof"_ My neck snaps forward slightly as a snowball hit the back of my head. I turn sharply to see a giggling Prim with another snowball in her hand. "You just declared war, little duck!" I scoop up a snowball and pack it before I move to avoid her second snowball.

Mine leaves my hand a moment later, hitting her chest before sliding off due to her coat. As we watch the pieces fall into a mush pile, Prim giggles and then sticks her tongue out at me. Quickly I am gathering another snowball and preparing a few more. Prim throws another, hitting my shoulder and another that lands at my feet.

If I was playing against anyone but Prim, this would get intense really quick. I'm not good at many things, but I excel and aiming. I avoid her face but Prim does her best to try and hit mine without success. (Although, I had to admit, her aim isn't half bad for a twelve-year-old.)

"Breakfast!" My mother calls as the two of us try to breathlessly keep the snowball fight going. Prim drops her last snowball and races to the door, stomping the snow off her boots and shedding her winder layers. I trail behind, taking my time to hang up both mine and Prim's coats. By the time I enter the kitchen, there is already a plate of eggs and bacon awaiting me and a cup of coffee.

The moment I sit down, there is a paper staring me back in the face my mom hands me. "Did you see this?" My eyes scan the article that she circled, a sad smile growing on my lips as I read it. "That boy does have come talent."

_Peeta._

The article is small, just a little information on Peeta Mellark, the rising artist who has a showing tonight. I've known about his art show for three weeks and I've still been debating on going. We haven't seen each other is a little over a month although we didn't end things on bad terms. I push the newspaper away and let the smile fall off my face.

"He really does."

"Is he going to come to our Christmas party?" Prim asks with a mouth full of eggs.

"Uh –" I don't know how to answer that because I haven't spoken to him in such a long time. All that bullshit about staying friends and keeping in touch went nowhere. Peeta got busy with his art, I focused more on archery, reality caught up and by the time I wanted to talk to him again; it felt too late. "I don't think so."

Prim puts on a pouty face that lasts a total of three seconds before her ugly orange cat, Buttercup, jumps onto the empty stool next to her. Prim rips a piece of bacon off and lets him eat if from her palm.

"Hazel called me while the two of you were outside, I told her we'd head over after breakfast and make a day of the snow." My mother smiles, a lightness to her face that is ever so rare.

I smile back at her, glad to see her put on a smile that does not look forced. Ever since my father died four years ago, my mother has never been the same. It was a horrible work accident, he worked at a car factory, something went wrong and he died. I never learned the details (not that I wanted to hear them) but my mother knew them.

The first few months after he passed, my mother was nothing but a shell. I was the one that got her out of bed, forced her to cook and look for a job. We almost lost our home because of how heartbroken my mother was. I understood, I was dying inside myself. It took all the strength I had to push myself up and get out of bed. But I had Prim, she was only eight at the time. Old enough to understand father was gone, but not old enough to take care of herself.

Finally, it was about a year and a half after the accident I yelled at my mother.

"You have to start being a mom!" I remember the angry tears running down my face. "I shouldn't have to deal with the bills and make sure they've been paid and that there is food in the house. I get it, mom. I miss him to but just because dad is – just because he's not here doesn't mean you don't have a responsibility! We lost dad, we can't lose you too!"

This snapped her out of it enough to start getting her life back together. It took her some time, but mom finally got a job as at the hospital. That with the money we still got from dad's death, we managed. I still worry about the bills and the food, but over the last couple of years, mom has been returning to her old self.

I finish my breakfast, not focusing on the food but forcing myself to eat. My mind's now on Peeta, what is he doing right now? Would he care if I showed up tonight or not?

I shake my head and stand up. "I'm going to change before we go."

I head to my room and take a deep breath as I see the mirror. A few photos of Peeta and I are stuffed into the side. Even after we broke up, I was too distraught to take them down. I walk over to them, avoiding my own reflection and stare at the picture taken a few months ago on the first day of school. Peeta's hand is wrapped around my waste, my arm is around his shoulders. I lean into him as we smile at the camera.

Again, I shake my head. He's the last person I should be thinking about.

"Katniss!"

I quickly shed myself of the pajama's I was wearing and throw on a undershirt and grey sweater and a pain of skinny jeans.

It's snowing again as the three of us head to the car. This snow is sticky and wet.

I hop in the passenger seat as my mom takes the driver with Prim behind her. As soon as we're on the road, my mother is focused on the road and doesn't say much. I think that's why she drives everywhere. She can focus on driving and not let her mind wonder.

"Do you think Rory will let my play his game this time?" Gale's younger brother who is Prim's age. He's a sweet kid unless it comes to his video games.

I turn in my seat to smile and Prim and say, "If he doesn't, just tell me and I'll talk to him."

When I turn back, I have no time to yell out or brace myself because the next thing I see in a semi truck racing towards us before things go black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Prim!_ Her name is on my mind the moment my eyes open.

There is chaos all around me, police officers and medics rushing around, trying to keep the scene under control. For a moment, I don't move, I stay standing at the edge, waiting for someone to approach me and ask me if I'm alright – but no one does.

Slowly, with my legs like jello, I begin to move forward. "Excuse me." I stared the officer right in the eyes, but he did nothing but move past me. "Hello!" I call after him, then to anyone who is around me, but no one seems to hear me. _Am I dead?_ That would explain a lot. But I don't _feel_ dead.

"Prim!" I start calling out, my eyes darting around but they stop the moment I see what used to be our car.

The truck slammed into the driver's side of the car, crushing it almost flat. The front tire is missing, the windshield is non-existent and the driver's door had somehow been ripped clean off.

Before I know what I am doing, I'm running to the driver's side and looking inside. There is blood on the seat. "Mom!" No answer. "Mom! Where are you?!" I'm screaming now, running around like my head was just cut off. This can't be happening!

"_Mommy!"_

"Please tell me someone survived." The words cut through the air like the world had been mute to me and someone just turned up the volume. I turn toward the voice, seeing a police officer talking to one of the medics at the ambulance.

"Right now, both the girls are in critical condition. We have the younger one rushing to the hospital," Thank God, Prim is alive. "the older girl is over there. They're still looking her over before we move her. She hit her head hard enough on the window it shattered."

"Jesus fucking Christ." The man sighed, shaking his head. "And the mother."

I step closer, my eyes on the medics. The second she takes to answer feels like years. But, as she opens her mouth to speak, her face whitens and my knees buckle. "The mother was DOA. Took most of the force. If that girl makes it – she has her mother to thank for it."

Slowly, I stroll over to the body lying in the snow. I only know it's me by the dark braid covered in snow. My face is too pale, my lips too discolored – this isn't me. It can't be!

But – it is.

I am all kinds of fucked-up. I have four broken ribs, a concoction, internal bleeding and outer bleeding that soaks through my sweater and taints the white snow. Apparently, my head crashing through the window not only gave me a concussion that could affect me for the rest of my life, but there are also shards of glass sticking out of my head. The medics say I'm lucky the pieces are small and didn't go to deep.

I don't care about me, I want to see my sister Prim. No one says anything more about her condition, but at least I know she is safe at the hospital.

"We have to get her out of here. I'll be damned if I let this girl die on the scene!" The next thing I know, my body is being put in the back of an ambulance. I barely managed to climb into the ambulance after the last medic before the doors are slammed shut and the ambulance is speeding down the road, siren blaring.

My head is spinning. I can't wrap it around the fact that this is happening.

I turn my back away from everyone as they try to keep me alive. Instead I focus on the world outside, the white and grey that pass in a blur as we speed to the hospital.

Everything is sharp and fuzzy at the same time. I sit there, thinking of my mother. How she smiled this morning, a real smile I hadn't seen in a while. How she was _finally_ making Prim breakfast almost every morning. She wasn't pretending to be sick for her job, she was going out with friends and enjoying herself. And now she is no longer here. I will never see her smile again.

I'll never hear her laugh again or ask her if she'll pick me up a chocolate bar at the store. I'll never hug her after she has another one of her melt downs. She'll never see Prim grow-up, never see either of us graduate, never watch our weddings or see her grandchildren.

If I wasn't already sitting, I would have fallen to my knees.

Four years ago I lost my father.

Now I've lost my mother.

I have no more time to sit and try to collect everything before they are rushing me into the hospital and into an operating room. There is so much medical terms happing it only makes everything worse. So, I focus on what they are doing – but that starts to make me sick.

I can handle hunting and dealing with cooking an animal, but watching someone dig inside me is almost too much for me to handle. If the accident doesn't kill me, watching them operate on my just might!

I've only been to the hospital once before. It was the first time my father took me hunting. We had our eyes on a deer who was oblivious to us. He told me to ready my bow and I was confident I would be able to shoot without a problem. But, just as I was about to let the arrow fly, my foot slipped and the deer started running. But I wasn't focused on that, I was focused on the pain in my leg that was half caught in a trap the two of us hadn't seen.

I was eleven, and all I remember is screaming bloody murder as my father rushes me to the car and heads to the hospital.

I was lucky, the wound didn't hit bone, it was just a flesh wound. I get the get a tetanus shot which was one of the worst parts. I remember a few weeks later my mom demanded my father never take me hunting again. This was the first time and I could have been more injured. She yelled at him for what seemed like hours about how she feared I would hurt myself or this would happen again, but only worse. My father said nothing but "I know" and "It's my fault, I didn't pay enough attention."

But I didn't want to give up.

Mom didn't understand how in control and powerful I feel whenever I have a bow in my hand. It's the only thing I know I'm good at. It took a few weeks, and by the time my mom agreed to let me hunt again, the season was over..

A few weeks later I was surprised with real archery lessons. My dad had taught me how to shoot first. At six years old, he bought me a bow and I fell in love. I was a goner the moment my first arrow hit the target. But I didn't want to be taught by a stranger until I found out there were competitions and I was a strong candid.

I won my first competition that year. I don't think I'd ever seen my dad more proud.

The worst part about the competitions was waiting. Before you're about to shoot you sit there, ready to show that you are the best, waiting to show everyone you're like Robin Hood, but you have to wait. Waiting felt like an eternity. That's how the operation room feels.

Whenever I look at the clock, it doesn't seem to move, even when it feels like two hours have passed.

I cannot help but let my mind wonder. Focusing on the operation doesn't help and I can't think about my mom or Prim.

_Peeta._

His name enters my mind again and I can't help but think he will be oblivious to all of this. If I die, how long until he finds out? Would anyone tell him or would he be using the newspaper as a costar and just happen to see my obituary?

That thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth I cannot shake.

I don't want to think about never running my hands through his blond hair, never melting as I look into his beautiful blue eyes, never feeling his strong arms tighten around me as I wake from a nightmare about my dad. It's been a little over a month since I've done any of that, and it's almost unbearable.

I stare at the clock, it's just past two. The art show doesn't start until five but Peeta always gets nervous whenever he is showing people his art work. It doesn't matter if it's one person or ten, his nervous always get the better of him. I imagine right now he's making himself a cup of tea and trying to read a book before he gives up and doodles for a while until he thinks it's time to get ready.

Whenever Peeta is doing any form of artwork, even sketching, his mind is no longer with us. He is lost in whatever he is creating. And that was always something I loved and admired about him. He was able to loose himself in his art, let the world melt away and focus on that one thing for hours on end. I understand being focused, I see it in myself when I'm shooting – but it's not the same.

"I think we're done here." The head doctor says, slowly taking his gloves off and giving me one last look. "You're a fighter, sweetheart. And fighters are survivors."

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><p>Please do not expect all chapters to be this fast. I just started writing and this is what happened. I hope you're all enjoying the story! Thank you for reading and please review, all feed-back is welcome.<p> 


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